


Yours

by lyriumlovesong



Series: The Rabbit and The Lion [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Cullen Fluff, Cullen Has Issues, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Sassy Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumlovesong/pseuds/lyriumlovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freya gets an unexpected nighttime visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours

_Tap tap tap._

Freya Lavellan rolled over under her thick duvet, groaning. She hadn’t been sure she’d heard it the first time--a gentle rapping at the door to her quarters--but now there was no mistaking it. She huffed an impatient breath and threw off her covers, mumbling to herself.

“Fen’Harel take whoever’s down there knocking at this hour.”

She wrestled a linen nightdress she never wore over her underpants and headed down the stairs, the stone smooth and cold under her bare feet.

_Tap tap tap-tap tap._

“I’m _coming_!” she shouted. “Patience is a virtue! I’m pretty sure that’s in the Chant somewhere.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs and gave her bleary eyes a rub before grabbing the cool iron of the door handle, pulling it toward her.

“Somebody better be dead or dying right now, if you’re bothering me at this hou---”

She stopped short. Standing in front of her, leaning on the doorframe for support, was Commander Rutherford. He turned his pallid face to her and spoke, voice shaking.

“Inquisitor… _Freya_. I’m sorry for waking you, but...” he trailed off, giving her a pained expression.

“Cullen, what is it?” she asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come inside, _ma'nehn_.”

He stepped inside, hunched a bit, and Freya closed the door behind him.

“I’m having a… bad night.”

“What do you mean, a ‘bad night?’” she asked.

He slumped his large frame against the stone wall.

“Hold on,” she said, holding a hand up as he opened his mouth to answer her, “let’s get you somewhere comfortable. Can you make it up the stairs?”

Cullen glanced up the stone steps and nodded.

“I think so.”

“Good, because I’m pretty sure the only person in this keep who could carry you is the Iron Bull, and I would probably get gored if I woke him right now.”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“I believe it’s officially crossed the threshold from ‘late’ to ‘early,’” Freya joked, putting a hand around Cullen’s upper arm. He pulled away from her and made as if he was going to turn and head back out the door.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, this was inconsiderate of me. I’ll just--”

“Cullen, _no_. That’s not what I was saying,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “I was only making a joke. _Please_. Come upstairs. I want to help, whatever it is.”

She held out her hand for him again, and Cullen pulled himself away from the wall, offering her his arm once more, but this time looking reluctant. He took a deep breath and ascended the stairs with her, taking each step slowly as Freya steadied him.

“If you fall,” Freya said, placing her other hand in his and intertwining their fingers, “fall _forward_. If you topple backward, there’s not going to be a damn thing I can do to stop you.”

He attempted half a smile and nodded.

“Noted.”

They crested the top of the stairs together, and she turned him toward her bed. Cullen took in his surroundings. He’d never seen the Inquisitor’s chambers before. Silver-white moonlight streamed in through stained glass windows that reached halfway to the ceiling. A roaring fire warmed the room, and he could make out a couple dozen extinguished candles laid out above it on a wide stone mantelpiece. Plush carpets and thick drapes added to the luxurious atmosphere, and a huge carved stone owl scowled down on the room from high above.

“Wow,” he said, turning to her. “This is…”

“I believe the word you’re searching for is _excessive_ ,” said Freya. “I’m used to a hammock or a bedroll in the back of an aravel. This is all a bit much for me most days. But the bed is comfortable.”

She gently ushered him to the four-poster covered in brocade fabric.

“Lean down a bit, will you?” she asked him, reaching to unfasten his fur-topped mantle. “Don’t know who gave you permission to be so _tall_.”

He gave her a small grin and obliged, and she swept the heavy garment off his shoulders.

She realized at this point that it was the first time she had ever seen her Commander out of armor. The shining plates that normally covered his body had always conjured a pleasant feeling of protection and strength from him, and up to this moment she had always thought they suited him nicely. But now that he was _more_ to her, this was giving her a glimpse at something that held even greater appeal--a Cullen without wars to fight.

Seeing him in his simple tunic and trousers was like getting a sneak peek at an alternative reality where they could just _be_ together, unencumbered by requisition reports and war table discussions, and long treks across Thedas keeping them apart for weeks, and fade rifts, and political nonsense. Flashes of their possible future came to her--them fast asleep late into the morning in the sunlit bedroom of a cottage somewhere in the woods, legs tangled up together under the sheets and her head resting on his broad chest; the two of them crossing a stream hand-in-hand with a basket full of food hooked around her elbow and a blanket tucked under his arm, hunting for a place to sit in the shade and have lunch; her standing in front of a fire with snow swirling outside, one of his large hands gently touching the growing swell of her bare belly, feeling a small kick there…

“...an explanation.”

Freya snapped back to reality, realizing Cullen had been speaking.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, walking to hang his coat over the arm of her settee, turning away to hide her embarrassment at being caught lost in her fantasy world.

“I said, ‘I suppose I owe you an explanation.’”

“You don’t owe me anything, Cullen. But if you want to talk, I’m always willing to listen.”

She crossed back over to the bed and sat down, patting the bare mattress next to her.

He looked hesitant.

“I won’t bite,” she said. “At least, not _tonight_.”

He blushed, but shakily lowered himself onto the bed beside Freya. The pounding in his head had reached a crescendo, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing.

Freya was somewhat alarmed at this. She had never seen him show any kind of discomfort before, though she knew the withdrawal from the addiction definitely caused him physical pain. If he was showing it, it must be bad. She took his hand again and kissed it softly.

“Do you mind if I lie down?” he asked her, closing his eyes tight against the stabbing sensation behind them.

“Of course not,” she replied, fluffing the pillow behind him. “It’s a bed. That’s what it’s for.”

Had he not been trying to will his skull not to explode, he mused silently to himself, he’d have delighted in imagining all the other ways they could be putting the bed to use. Instead, he leaned backward and felt his head sink into the cool pillow.

“You’re hurting,” she said to him. It wasn’t a question.

Cullen nodded, putting a hand to his head.

“My whole body aches. It feels like my head will split open any moment.”

“Would touch help? Or does that make it worse?”

“I’m… not sure,” he admitted, frowning. “I’ve never been around anyone during these times before.”

“Why now?” she asked, getting up and crossing to a small crate on the floor. She opened it, and he could hear the tinkling of glass objects clinking together coming from inside.

“I don’t know. I felt it start to come over me, and I tried to just grit my teeth and bear it, but all I could think about was _you_. I just… wanted you near me. Wanted to hear your voice.”

Freya paused with her hand around the neck of a small bottle and smiled to herself. Seeing Cullen like this was terrible, but those words… Her heart gave an immense swoop.

“It’s probably a stupid reason to bother you in the middle of the night.”

“Nonsense,” she told him, turning around. “I told you I was here for you for _any_ reason, _any_ time. I meant it.”

Cullen opened his eyes a sliver and watched her walk back toward the bed. The fire behind her lit the fabric of her night dress in a way that made it warmly translucent, revealing the silhouette of her nearly naked figure underneath.

 _Maker’s breath, but she was perfect_.

“What’s in the bottle?” he asked, his eyes falling to her hand.

“It’s an oil, an herbal infusion. I thought we could see if it helps with the pain. Only if you want to, of course.”

“I’m game to try anything,” he said, wincing again as his temples gave another painful throb.

“Sit up for just a moment,” she told him. He pulled himself up using the bedpost and she reached for the hem of his tunic. He turned away from her slightly, his face reddening. This was not how he’d prefer to be undressed by her, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable. Perhaps sensing this, Freya leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the temple, stroking his cheek. He looked back into her eyes, saw the concern and affection there, and raised his arms and allowed her to tug the linen shirt gently over his head. Freya’s mouth nearly fell open.

 _Blessed Mythal, his body_...

Cullen’s muscles stood out in stark contrast in the flickering light of the fire, scars from battles past criss-crossing his skin, and it was all Freya could do to remember to breathe as she saw it all laid bare for the first time. She cleared her throat.

“Can you lie on your stomach and scootch over a bit?” she asked. He turned away from her, and she felt grateful for the fact that she wouldn’t have to do this while looking at the front of his body. When faced with the back side, however, she realized it was only going to be a fraction less distracting.

Cullen moved toward the center of the bed and laid on his front with his head sideways on the pillow, facing the fire, hands under one cheek. He saw Freya move out of the corner of his eye, and she disappeared from sight as she hiked her gown up and climbed back up onto the bed. He sensed her shifting around a bit near his hips and then suddenly felt her weight on top of him. She had slung one knee over him, straddling his backside.

“That’s not uncomfortable, is it?” she asked him, laying a gentle hand on his lower back. He shivered a little with pleasure at her touch, in spite of his discomfort from the lyrium withdrawal. It felt as though she hardly weighed anything, unsurprisingly.

“No,” he told her. “It’s fine.”

She reached up and pulled his arms down, and he let her move them to lay at rest at his sides.

“Try to relax your body,” she told him, and he heard the hollow _Thwup!_ of a cork being removed from the bottle she’d dug out of the trunk. Seconds later, he felt oiled hands at the sides of his neck, and a delicious warmth spread as she moved her palms down over his back, dispersing the infusion over his skin. She worked it in gently until his whole back was covered, the heat gradually building the longer the oil sat there.

“That does feel nice,” Cullen said. “Thank you.”

“I’m not done just yet, _ma'nehn_.”

He felt her hands move back up to his neck, and she pressed them into his flesh, beginning to knead his muscles in slow, rhythmic movements, moving from the base of his skull to his shoulders and back again. He let out a long, low moan into the pillow. Freya’s hands stopped.

“Good _‘uuuhhhhhnf_ ,’ or bad?” she asked him with a smirk, leaning to the side to see if she could make out his expression. His face had gone slack.

“Good,” he grunted. “So, _so_ good.”

She smiled broadly to herself again and resumed, working at the numerous knots under his skin and feeling his tension melt under her touch. Cullen could feel the throbbing in his head receding, becoming little more than a dull ache. The rest of his upper body felt as though it was floating in a warm bath as she moved over his back. Whatever was in that oil was a miracle.

“Dalish healers emphasize the power of touch,” Freya told him, her hands digging into his shoulders. “The smallest caress can bring comfort. Gentle pressure, like a hug, can calm anxiety. Deep touch like this can release tension and allow bad energy to leave the body. Plus, it feels _really_ fucking good.”

“Mmmhmm,” Cullen agreed, the sound muffled.

He found himself impressed by the strength of her hands. He’d stood at his window overlooking the courtyard on many an occasion, watching her practicing with her blades, tiny form practically dancing across the grass as she whirled her daggers through the air against imaginary foes. He knew she could move with dizzying speed, but he’d never realized how much power must also be behind those blows. He wondered to himself if he would ever stop finding new things about this woman that surprised and awed him.

She had worked her hands over both sides of his back and was now running her flat palms along either side of his spine. She heard a few satisfying cracks as his lower spine shifted into alignment under her hands.

“Ohhhhhh, _Maker_ ,” he said with a look of relief on his face, and she laughed out loud.

“That’s also a thing that can happen,” she told him.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” he asked, closing his eyes again as her touch gradually became very gentle. She was now running just the tips of her fingers over his skin, barely touching him, their light contact eliciting goosebumps wherever they roamed.

“My mother is the healer in our clan. She tends the sick and the injured, and helps bring all the little Lavellan babies into the world.”

“Do you miss your family?” he asked. He felt her hands pause.

“More than I can say. I worry for them constantly.”

“We’ll do whatever we can to keep them safe,” Cullen said, turning and propping himself on one elbow. “I swear it.”

She smiled at him.

“I know you will.”

Sliding off his back, she scooted up next to him and lay her head down on the adjacent pillow, looking into his eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asked. “Any better?”

“I do,” he said, reclining sideways to face her and laying his head down on one arm. “Noggin still aches, but nothing compared to earlier.”

“Good,” she said. She opened her mouth wide in a yawn, and Cullen looked apologetic again.

“I should let you sleep,” he said, making to get up. Freya reached for him.

“ _Stay_.”

“You want me to sleep in your chambers? Freya, people will talk--”

“People already talk, Cullen. Let them.”

“I don’t want to impose,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I can weather the rest of the night.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked, sitting up halfway. “I thought you wanted my company.”

“I did. I _do_.”

“Okay. So... ?”

“It just feels silly. Like… I dunno, wanting your mum when you scrape your knees. I’m a _grown man_.”

“This is more than a scraped knee, Cullen. And I’m certainly not your mother.” She moved so her body was an inch away from his and ran a hand through his golden curls. “It’s okay to _need_ someone.”

Her lips touched his, softly at first. He snaked a hand over her hip, gently pushing against her lower back so her body was pressed to his. Her kiss became deeper, not insistent and lustful, but fuller and with a kind of loving forcefulness behind it. When she pulled her mouth away from his, she kept her forehead against his, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Well, when you put it like _that_ ,” he said. She opened her eyes and grinned up at him. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep much, but I’d like to stay, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will, _ma'nehn_.”

Freya sat up, gathering the covers from around their ankles and pulling them over their bodies. She settled onto her pillow with her back to Cullen, and he pulled her close. He nuzzled into her hair, breathing in the smell of warm summer afternoons and embrium flowers. It was a scent he was finding himself beginning to crave whenever she was away on a long journey.

“What’s that word you’ve been calling me tonight?” he asked her, and the feeling of his warm breath against her ear sent a delightful frisson down her spine.

“It’s Dalish,” she said sleepily, closing her eyes and relishing the feeling of his heart between her shoulderblades.

“I gathered that much,” he answered. “What’s it mean?”

“Incredibly-strong-and-handsome-human-male.”

“Does _not_ ,” he replied, laughing. “What does it _actually_ mean?”

Freya curled an arm around his, entwining her fingers with his and pulling the embrace just a little bit tighter.

“It means ‘ _my happiness_.’”

She felt his lips curl into a smile against her skin, and he planted a small kiss at the nape of her neck. He wondered if she could feel the way his heart was hammering against his chest like a Qunari battering ram. After a few moments, the breaths that were causing his arm to rise and fall against her ribs slowed and settled into a rhythm, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.

  
_________________________

 

The first rays of the morning sun crept over the Inquisitor’s windowsills, and she opened her eyes slowly, wishing they would stay away just for one more hour. She rolled over to curl into Cullen’s arms again but found the other side of the bed vacant, the depression where he had been the night before still just a little warm to the touch. A small piece of parchment with a single fold lay on the pillow. She took it and opened it. In a messy, angular hand was a short note. 

 

_Freya,_

_I know you don’t care if people talk, but I’m not ready to tarnish your sterling reputation just yet. Soon. Just not tonight._  
  
_Thank you. For everything._

_Yours ,_

_Cullen_

 

Her eyes lingered on the word he'd carefully underlined, and she smiled.

 


End file.
